


ingrained

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dark Side Rey, Extra Treat, F/F, Kissing, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “Tell me more about how terrible a fighter I am,” she commanded, pressing her hands against the breastplate of Phasma’s armor. If it was as easily removed as the helmet, it would be on the floor, too, Phasma suspected.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenofspade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/gifts).



“Your technique does you no credit,” Phasma said, her voice cool with annoyance, especially effective through the modulation of her helmet’s speakers in that respect. Most people quailed at that particular tone, the mechanical edge of it.

Not Rey though. Never Rey.

In fact, she twirled her ’saber with even more ferocity, the twin-blades little more than a flurry of blood-red light around her body: a color she hated, Phasma knew, but one Rey had accepted as ‘traditional,’ figuring it mattered little to her what shade the crystals inside of it generated so long as they sliced through flesh and armor and walls with ease. It hummed, the weapon did, and sputtered, angry.

 _Poor calibration_ , Phasma had once suggested though she knew little about the construction of lightsabers.

 _Greater volatility_ , Rey had countered. _More punch. Fun. A lot of fun. You remember what fun is, don’t you, my dear Captain?_

One of the blades struck the floor, producing a horrid sound not unlike the scratch of nails down smooth duracrete. A spray of sparks landed on Rey’s clothing, orange and white and sizzling, burning out to nothing against the dark, fireproof material wrapped around her arm; they fell, too, at Phasma’s feet. And a charred, molten gash arced in a semi-circle around Rey’s body, the prized, polished wood imported— _stolen_ , a part of her mind corrected, ever precise—from Endor, now forever marred.

The air smelled of burning, acrid and thick.

Phasma would have to find someone to clean this up. And they would do the best they could, but it wouldn’t be enough to return the surface to its original glory.

She’d rather liked the pristineness of this particular workout room before, despite how silly it was to equip it with such a treasured resource. But Rey had wanted it and so the Supreme Leader had insisted. And here Rey was, destroying it like it was her right to do so.

“It gets the job done,” Rey replied, thumbing the power button. “It’s beaten you on occasion.”

“On occasion,” Phasma said, placing special emphasis on the second word. “You can use the Force. I shouldn’t _ever_ beat you.”

Rey’s eyes sparkled and a wide, brilliant smile stretched across her mouth. The dimples in her cheeks had long since stopped fooling Phasma with their charm and innocence, but Rey never quit trying regardless. Phasma supposed Rey saw her as a challenge in that respect. And as far as Phasma was concerned, she would remain a challenge for as long as it kept Rey interested.

Boredom motivated Rey nearly as much as anger did. And losing her favored position—if not, too, her head—because Rey had bored of her? No. No, that absolutely wouldn’t happen.

But what she would do when Rey tired of Phasma’s criticisms, her tart responses to Rey’s carefree whimsies, her mastery of her own emotions—useful when she wanted to hide how impressed she was with Rey’s prowess—Phasma couldn’t say. She might well lose her head on that day; bowing and scraping wasn’t exactly her forte after all, though she could accept orders with the best of them.

Rey would probably not satisfy herself with the latter and Phasma may not find herself flexible enough for the former.

Striding neatly across the wound in the floor, Rey stalked toward her, tipping her helmet with the edge of the long hilt of her ’saber, still hot enough that Phasma felt its heat against the skin of her face as the helmet clattered to the floor behind her.

“That’s much better,” Rey said, biting her bottom lip and looking up at Phasma from beneath lowered lashes. “I like seeing your disdain for me.”

Without her helmet, Phasma’s voice was much warmer, the timbre richer. Phasma hated it and Rey didn’t need to see _anything_ to know _that_ was true. Phasma suspected that was the real reason Rey liked to tease her this way.

“Tell me more about how terrible a fighter I am,” she commanded, pressing her hands against the breastplate of Phasma’s armor. If it was as easily removed as the helmet, it would be on the floor, too, Phasma suspected.

Phasma lifted her hand and brushed the back of it against Rey’s cheek. The edge of the armor covering the back of her hand scratched Rey’s skin, raising a red mark in its wake, and though Rey hissed, her head tilted to follow Phasma’s motion.

Bending, Phasma captured Rey’s lips with her own, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of Rey’s neck. Rey pushed herself onto her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around Phasma’s shoulders, and lifted herself up even further. She moaned against Phasma’s mouth, her nails digging into the gorget of Phasma’s armor, putting uncomfortable pressure on Phasma’s throat.

“I’ll do no such thing,” Phasma said, breathless as she released her hold on Rey. Rey, by contrast, hardly looked affected. Even her braids appeared as ordered as they’d started. One day, Phasma would muss Rey beyond what she already dared to do, but today was not that day. And Rey didn’t yet seem interested in pushing for more.

Prancing back, she reignited her weapon, red light and black shadows dancing around her legs. “How am I supposed to get better without your insights?” she asked, but all Phasma noticed was the pink flush of her lips.

Phasma sighed, her hands tightening into fists at her side. “Start again,” she said.

Rey nodded, pleased, and worked through the opening steps of this particular exercise. Phasma had no idea if it did her any good. Her muscles, already toned, had further sharpened and defined themselves. Her balance was better. She carried a greater strength in her body than when they’d started doing this together. But whether this was the kind of training a Force-adept needed had stopped being a question Phasma asked herself.

Her suggestions and programs had left an indelible mark on Rey’s physique and style and she would be lying if she said it didn’t please her to have done this, Rey consenting to be remade in Phasma’s image every time they got together this way.

Perhaps, too, this would save her from Rey’s more capricious moods. Perhaps it would protect Rey out in field where she must act as the Supreme Leader’s hand and will. Or perhaps it would make Rey love her.

Whatever it did, Phasma would continue to do it until Rey told her no more.

“Your form is sloppy,” Phasma said. “Lift your elbow.”

“Yes, Captain,” Rey said, saluting, and this time, she executed the move to perfection, not a wasted motion, not a single unnecessary flare of personality to become a weakness to be exploited. Perfectly efficient and perfectly deadly.

“Well done,” Phasma said, allowing a small measure of her pleasure at Rey’s accomplishment shine through.

Rey repaid Phasma’s appreciation with a sarcastic little curtsey, her head bobbing in recognition, the only reaction Phasma could have expected under the circumstances. Rey took no more than the smallest amount of pleasure from compliments. Strange, considering her fellows often bowed and scraped for even the tiniest morsel of acceptance from those few they respected—and were quick to anger when it was withheld.

“Now try it again.” Phasma made a shooing gesture with her hand. As far as punishments go, it wouldn’t have flown with her stormtrooper corps, but Rey required a different tack. “At half speed.”

And if Phasma happened to enjoy the display, Rey was no doubt well aware of that fact and would use it to her advantage later.

Phasma found herself looking forward to it.


End file.
